Everlasting Silence (The Haunted Fanfiction)
by ShyKidSkylynn
Summary: A fanfiction about The Haunted by Rejected Shotgun in Grayson's perspective. Future chapters to come :)
1. Chapter 1

I have been such a huge fan of The Haunted and The Haunting Trilogy since the first movie, (made by RejectedShotgun on youtube.) Since I love it so much, I wanted to make a fanfiction about it. This is a fanfiction about the Haunted that is in Grayson's perspective about his life in the four years after the Haunting. This is the first fanfiction I've written, and it's going to have many chapters. I hope I can write these for a long time. These take a while to write, so please be patient when waiting for future chapters. Let me know your thoughts on this and if you have any feedback. I hope you guys enjoy this fanfiction :)

Chapter 1

This is Where We Part

Now that I have had time to really reflect about it after many years, I could say that my sad tale all started when I took the dragon egg from the end of The Ten Trials, but that would not only be stretching the truth, but that I would be telling a flat out lie. I guess you could say that it started when I arrived at the arctic base with my only memory of falling into pitch blackness, but that is a story for another time. My story starts from that moment that I walked in with some firewood for the camp we made by Iron Myer, the moment Drake had requested that we part ways.

It was a hard night for my friend Drake, but I think that it was an even harder night on me. If you think that it would have been hard for someone to deal with the loss of his best friend, it's even harder to watch them grieve, knowing that there is not a damn thing in the world that you can do for him. It hurts even more when you _yourself_ are grieving, yet you can't, because you have to be there for your friend who's grieving just as much as you; and if you aren't, then who in the world would? That was who I was that night: the one who was there for the other because he felt he had no other choice.

I was coming back to the makeshift camp for the umpteenth time with a very light armload of small sticks and bits of wood for our pitiful looking campfire. The oxygen deprived flames were struggling for life, reaching up towards the sky, pleading for more air to further ignite its flames. I kept a long stick by the fire so that I could shift the wood once in a while to provide it more oxygen, and continually made the ten minute walk to the nearby woods and come back with another armload of wood to keep the fire going. I left Drake there, he did not pay much attention to me, at the time, I thought he was too absorbed in watching the flames, but he wasn't watching the flames; he was looking into them.

He just kept on staring with a blank face into the flames. Beyond those flames were his memories. Beyond those flames were the faces of the people cared for most, the places he called home, and beyond those flames was life and death, good and evil. Beyond those flames were the soulless eyes of the man they call _Him_. The man who took my friend. The man who took Armen away from us. The man we thought was dead at last.

As the night went on, something strange began to happen. Something that wasn't natural,. The fire began to dim out when Drake had finally seemed to be dozing off, and I hadn't touched it in a while. I was halfway to turning around to pick up the water bucket to put it out completely. Drake stared at the ashes, then, as if by will, the ashes spontaneously went up in roaring flames. I jumped in surprise, as I had nearly gotten swallowed up by the flames. A few minutes late, when I asked if Drake wanted the fire to be put out, he said to keep it that way. And that, I now believe, was when he began to be able to use his powers at will, I certainly do not think that it was consciously though. Not yet, but soon, he would be able to fully harness the power of an extraordinarily rare gift inside of him, waiting to fully blossom into life.

It had been very clear to me that Drake wanted to be left alone to stare into the flames. And though I knew he did not want to be bothered, I kept pestering him out of simple concern. Our conversations were short lived, and usually ended a few sentences in. I tried to talk to him once in a while through the night when I thought he needed it, but to little success. Yes, he was fine. No, he wasn't hungry. Sure, I could go get some more wood. No, he didn't need anything right now. As he said before, he was fine, and yes, he was sure. No, I could have the bread, he wasn't hungry. No, he wasn't tired. Yes, he remembered that one time when we found that strange technology under the base. Yeah, he thought it was weird too, but it doesn't matter now. How many times did he have to say that he was _fine_?

No approach that I tried succeeded. Drake only told me to leave him alone, and so I did. And quite frankly, I needed some time to just think about things too.

I came back with a small armload of sticks and bits of wood for the pitiful looking fire. Its flames were choking from lack of oxygen, and reached towards the night sky, gasping for life. I carelessly threw the wood in, and sat down next to Drake, who let out a sad sigh of sorrow and loneliness. He did not push me away from him this time, I assumed that he had grown too tired to try and avoid my presence. With him, I stared into the scorching flames, and tried to see why Drake was so intent on focusing on them. It was beyond my understanding to know of what Drake saw within the flames that was so important to him. One does not understand the true importance of fire until one wishes for their sorrows to be consumed by its flames.

Not interested in looking at the fire, I watched my friend, Drake, as he stared into the flickering flames with tears streaking down his face. He was constantly wiping them away from the enderman half of his face with a strange look on his face. It was as if he had been burned by his own tears. I would hear him muttering under his breath, "I _hate _water." In my time of knowing him, I am sure that I had never heard him complain about water before that night.

I finally decide to break the silence between the two of us that had lasted nearly the entire night, "Hey,"

"Hey Grayson," he sighed, still staring longingly into the fire.

"How you holding up?"

"Not so well," he said. I finally had a little bit of truth to work off of.

"Yeah-" I said, "I miss him too."

Armen. He was my friend. He was Drake's friend- no- his _best_ friend. And he left us, not on purpose though. He died sacrificing his life for us. Images of a young, icy blue eyed man who wore his burnt brown, wavy hair swept outwards race through my head. _The Chosen One_ ripping his helmet off his head and throwing it towards me. It lands in my hands, and I stare at it, baffled. He yells, "Screw it! I've had enough of this!" Stunned, I watch helplessly and he runs towards the ledge of the platform and leaps forth and kills the white eyed man suspended in air with the fiery sword, tackling him into the lava. Drake runs toward the ledge with tears in his eyes, reaching out his hand to save Armen, but he's too late. Armen fell with the man who had haunted us for so long, and killed _Him_. But Armen died as well. It's a bitter-sweet memory of winning and losing the same battle, a mostly bitter memory.

"Hey uh-" Drake said, breaking my train of thought, "can I see Armen's helmet?"

"Oh, sure. Uh- let's see-" I said, dropping my backpack onto the ground. I opened it, and pulled the white-ish-purple helmet out of it. "Here it is," I said, handing it to him. I began to take off my own armor from The Hall of Heroes, and stuff it in my backpack. "I don't need this anymore- Are you sure you want it?"

"Yeah," he said, clutching it in his hands. "Uh, do you mind if I keep it?"

"Um-" I close my back and heave it over my shoulder, "yeah-sure-you can keep it." I had no use for the helmet anyway, I was glad to give it Drake. He probably needed it more than I did.

"Alright, thanks. Um- listen," he began, looking up at me, "I'm gonna head out soon," he said as he loosely pointed in a random direction.

I tilt my head in confusion, then it hit me that Drake wanted to leave by himself. But this was Drake decision, not mine. He must have seen the slightly hurt look in my eyes, "I don't- I'm sorry," he apologized. "I-I just don't want any reminders of any of this," he explained.

I understood why he wanted to leave, but I was still hurt. "That's fine," I lied. I was anywhere from fine. I've gone through this before for- I don't even remember how many times. But it was somehow- different this time. Collin had gone missing, then Luke, then Jacob died on the oil rig field, then Emmett went missing too, and now Armen had died right before my eyes. Anyway, I had felt sad all those times. But this was different, it was _very_ different. It's different if someone chose to leave, and you know the others never meant to.

"Well- wouldn't the helmet count as a reminder?" I asked suddenly.

Drake looked down at it longingly, wishing that his friend were still alive. "Well-it just more to remind of Armen than-_Him_," he said.

"Yeah," I sighed.

"Look, I just-if you don't mind, I'd like to go now and get a-a head start."

I wondered what his rush was, it wasn't like he had anywhere to go, but I didn't hang onto the thought very long. "That's fine," I lied again. I actually wasn't lying, not completely. I was fine with him leaving, I just didn't want him to. I looked towards the twilight in the distance, where the sun's light was just beginning to show over the horizon. "The sun's coming up soon, so-"

"Alright, and thanks Grayson, for everything. I'm just glad this whole nightmare's over." I heard my own thoughts coming out of his mouth, it was like he had read my mind

"Yeah-be safe, okay?" I said. It wasn't a request, even though that's how it sounded, I wanted him to be safe.

"You too."

"I'm gonna stay here for the night," I said, then yawned. I really needed sleep, lots of sleep.

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime," he said as he started walking away from the camp.

I looked off in his direction. "Maybe," I said, as his silhouette blended with the shadows in the distance, hoping that it would be soon. In my sorrow, I picked up The Pipes of Time that I got from The Hall of Heroes, and blew two notes through the small instrument. Two long, sad notes, one dedicated to our loss, the other to our bitter-sweet victory.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Journey Starts

For a majority of the time that it took for the sun to gracefully rise over the Eastern horizon, I packed up camp. As the sun rose, the morning sky was filled with an abundance of beautiful purples, pinks, and golds. I put out the fire as much as I could, and dismantled the unused tent. Drake and I hadn't used to the tent that I had put up, which I had expected; the tent was a 'just in case' setup more than anything else. Everything was packed in a jiffy, however, I had to wait about a half an hour for the leftover embers of campfire to cool off. I saw no need in accidentally starting a wildfire-especially on a windy day. I took this time to admire the beauty of the sunrise, and tried to ignore Drake's absence while I made up a tune on The Pipes of Time. It's sound was filled with air, which somewhat bothered me.

The Pipes of Time, which had the shape of a pan flute and appeared to be made from a special type of wood, absolutely fascinated me-sometimes, they seem to play themselves, composing its own, unique, and lovely tune. It was always one that sounded like something that you were a knight in shining armour galloping into battle, or a mage casting a spell, or meeting mystical creatures, like you were in a fairy tale. It was a magic instrument.

When the embers were cool enough to touch, I abandoned the camp. I decided to set off in a direction about 90 degrees adjacent to the direction Drake had gone. This way, the wind would be at my back, blowing North. Even if there wasn't any wind, I would have walked North anyway simply because I had a feeling I should go there-but I wasn't so sure about my hunch. So with a thick forest to my left and Ironport-the capitol of the ancient fallen kingdom called Ironmyre-to my right, I traveled onward.

The day's journey consisted of trekking up and down hills, each one steeper than the last. I personally prefer the trip downwards because it's always easier when you have gravity working in your favor. I paused at the top of every third hill to take a quick breather. I would take a few sips of the little water that I had; I only drank a small amount of it since there were no nearby water sources. I would then continue traveling with the continually increasing hope that there was civilization just beyond the next hill, but never found it. I kept on telling myself that maybe, just maybe there would be a town nearby. There wasn't, and I knew it, but I had been telling myself that for so long that I was beginning to believe myself.

It was windy, and it wasn't a warm summer day's wind. It was a cold wind that you'd experience when fall was approaching winter. The whipping wind-though it was at my back-was harsh. It made the tips of my ears red. My cheeks were stinging like I had been slapped. The wind was so cold, it burned. I was looking up at the sky when I reached the top of one hill and frowned. I didn't have to be a meteorologist to know the large, dark-gray, ominous clouds rolling over the hills would bring foul weather. I was hopping it wouldn't be snow; I've I already had more than a lifetime's worth of _that_. I need more sun in my life. I wished I had some sort of windbreaker so that I wouldn't be getting goose bumps on my arms. I was going to put on my armor from the arctic base, but then a strangely familiar voice echoed in my head. I knew it well, as if I had heard it my whole life-yet, I couldn't place it. The memory was too distant. The firm and simple phrase the voice whispered to me was so familiar though.

_Suffering builds character._

_I already have enough character,_ I thought. I took its advice anyway, and tried to ignore the bitter cold. I began to ponder about my mental health for a short while. I either had a mental sickness, which would explain the fact I was hearing voices; I was remembering something, which excited me; or I was just hoping that someone was talking to me. I decided that the third was undoubtedly the reason. A large majority of my life-as far back as I can remember-has sadly been spent in loneliness. I'm always wanting someone to talk to, and I'm not very good company for myself. I'm sur

By late afternoon, Ironport was hidden far from my view, the wind was also letting up-maybe there wouldn't be a storm tonight. At sundown, I felt like I had been climbing entire mountains the whole day. I must have walked nearly twenty miles in one day with almost no time spent resting. I reached the bottom of a tall hill and decided since it was so late in the night, I should rest. I was tempted to immediately lie down, but I reminded myself that if I did, my legs would be sore and stiff when I woke up the next morning. After doing a little bit of stretching, I set up the white tent and sat down at the entrance. The sunset was nice to watch, for the little time their was to watch it.

I thought about a few things while watching the long grass sway lightly in the cool breeze. I mainly enjoyed the view though. I felt like I was inside a painting. The grass was a greenish blue on the rolling hills, and the stars against the night sky seemed to be nothing more but pinpricks of white, gold, blue, and red to the eye. A meteor shower caught my attention, and I watched appreciatively at the light show. In all my time in the darkness, I had failed to see the light within it. As I watched the sky, I felt myself falling, deeper and deeper, into a new kind of darkness. I rested peacefully.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He Will Live On

I woke up for the second time tonight as a brisk fall breeze gently stroked my cheeks. Waking up several times in the middle of the night was an old survival tactic I'd developed long ago for the benefit of self-preservation. It was necessary then, but a nuisance now. It was as if my body was demanding, "It's two AM. Wake up, lazy." I finally got up after several terribly long minutes. I impatiently kicked at some gravel, waiting for my body to succumb to exhaustion, while I slowly paced back and forth.

The crunching of my feet trudging through the gravel was like the clobber of someone pulverizing bones. What an uncomfortable thought. I've never heard someone grinding, crushing, battering bones to smithereens before. I gingerly massaged the back of my neck and my shoulders. The irritated skin was as hot as a batch of cookies fresh from the oven and itched as much as the mosquito bites that had accumulated on my arms. Before, my skin has remained pale and nearly unblemished for years due to lack of contact with sunlight. One can only imagine what the harsh effect of the sun's harmful rays would be on such pale skin. Fortunately, this was a temporary problem with an easy solution.

I love sunny days. When I saw the sunrise over the horizon for the first time in-I don't even know how long-I could literally feel the vitamin D being soaked into my skin. The sun is like a brand new penny—shining, shimmering, and glinting in the light. However, it's worth so little, one cannot help but admire its beauty. The sun's golden radiance is beyond compare.

I started to shiver as the frosty air nipped and bit my skin. I rubbed my arms and hopped up and down to conserve my heat. I've lived in a real life winter wonderland with an abominable snowman for so long I should've been used to being cold at this point. I could hear Armen laughing his head off now, "Grayson's a cold-blooded reptile!" I'd roll my eyes in annoyance and tell him to quit giving me his smart remarks.

I was..._lonely_. The feeling was so unfamiliar; I almost didn't know what to label it. You'd expect that I've felt loneliness before. After all, I was alone for four years prior to Armen's death. I have spent a considerably large portion of my life in solitude, I never felt lonely for a majority of that time. As far back as my hazy recollection will allow me, I've always been used to isolation. I never minded being alone. Now, my mind was pleading for Armen's company as if it would put everything into perspective again. We'd be shivering, cold, and hopping around on our toes, but we'd be doing it together, laughing ourselves silly at how ridiculous we looked. I thought it was selfish of me to want to snatch that helmet right out of Drake's hands. I finally understood why he requested I give it to him. Perhaps he thought that if he held on to a piece of our friend, Armen would continue to live on in his heart.

With that thought, I abruptly stopped springing about in the grass. Almost mindlessly, I quickly dismantled my tent, rolled up the sleeping bag, and forcefully shoved the wrangled mess into my bag. I swiftly swung my backpack over my shoulders and started running. I didn't think about anything else-nothing. I ran as quickly as my legs would carry me. I possessed such a strong inclination to recover what I'd left behind in Iron Myer; I considered this a mandatory task. It was as if something or _someone_ had commanded me to.

My only motivation to keep pressing forward was a tiny voice inside my head, quietly pleading and chanting, "Go back, Grayson. Go back for the sword."


End file.
